


three kisses.

by sherlockianfangirl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, THIS IS KINDA BAD IM SORRY, anyhoo i hope u like it?, im a slut for emotionally indecisive boys, sorry lads - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockianfangirl/pseuds/sherlockianfangirl
Summary: Thank you for giving you, thank you for taking me.





	three kisses.

The first kiss is electric.

Sherlock pulls away from her gasping, shaking, his lips literally burning.

He’s just betrayed everything he stands for. The mind palace, the sociopathic behavior, the feigned apathy, all of it has shattered.

It’s funny, because Sherlock has always taken precaution to save himself from outsiders. But in the end, it was him, the one inside the gate, who destroyed everything.

 _He_ kissed (Y/n). And he’s in a whole fuckload of trouble, because guess what?

He liked it.

“Have mercy,” he whispers, completely overcome by this realization.

Sherlock doesn’t believe in God, but (Y/n)’s lips might be able to suffice in His place.

She peers up at him. He likes how she tilts her head back, exposing her neck. Swaths of untouched, delectable flesh are begging for him to taste.

That thought was so uncharacteristic and lewd that Sherlock feels the urge to shudder.

“Sherlock,” (Y/n) breathes out, each letter claiming its own syllable, _Sherlock_ , the name so intensely felt and savored that it takes all meaning and loses it just as fast, “You…”

 _I kissed you_ , the voice in his mind smugly declares.

It’s a facade. His inner voice is actually begging for this kiss to be a tactic, a method used to pry out information and manipulate this woman into bending against his will. This kiss can’t just be a kiss.

 _Heavens_ , wait - he doesn’t believe in that concept.

 _(Y/n)’s lips_ , he’s falling in deep.

“I kissed you,” he says out loud, his real voice weak and uncertain and so damn _scared._

(Y/n) swallows. Sherlock watches her throat bob, disgusted by how quickly the action makes his mouth water.

“Why?” she asks.

Because he wanted to.

“Because I wanted to.”

A small smile finds its way across her lips. Sherlock can feel himself blushing. He’s elicited reactions like this in so many women by doing so much less, but no reaction has ever undone him quite like this.

If he concentrates, he can feel every little thread that keeps him together unraveling, collecting itself in a spool that (Y/n) is holding.

Nothing in his mind palace helped him achieve this moment. The kiss was an instinct.

Maybe Sherlock doesn’t need all of these threads to keep himself together.

There’s enough active consciousness in him left to pick up on how (Y/n)’s smile is fading with his lack of an elaboration.

Sherlock wants to take his thumbs and curve her lips back up. He likes her smile. He wants to take his thumbs and drag them from her smile to her neck, her collarbone, her…

Frankly, Sherlock wants to put his hands in the kinds of places that would make John blush.

But how will (Y/n) let him? It’s his newest case, newest mystery.

_How will he get (Y/n) to give herself to him?_

“I want to do it to you again,” he finds himself saying, trying to play into his instincts, “If you’ll let me.”

She laughs. Sherlock wasn’t making a joke. How did he ever let himself become so hopelessly inept at this that his most genuine requests became a point of humor?

“Sherlock,” she says, the word this time rolling off her tongue in one syllable, like it’s been waiting in her mouth for a while and is dying to be heard.

There’s a pause.

“Love, there is _so_ many things that I’ll let you do to me.”

Sherlock’s hands itch.

“Like what?” he asks. It’s quite possible that this is the first time he’s asked (Y/n) a question that he genuinely doesn’t know the answer to.

“How about you try to find out?”

And then _she_ kisses _him._

This second kiss is literally a _religious_ experience.

Sherlock is so enthralled, so overwhelmed with the feeling of her mouth against his that it takes every fiber of his being to just stand upright.

(Y/n) keeps her lips firmly planted against his, and Sherlock realizes that she is giving herself to him, but he’s also giving himself to her. He is her. She is him.

His hands want to exclaim their gratitude. _Thank you for giving you, thank you for taking me_. But he fears that he’ll ruin this.

When (Y/n) expresses her gratitude, it’s with her tongue.

Sherlock nearly weeps.

He has to let go.

The rational thought that (Y/n) hasn’t unraveled _screams_ at his decision. He can’t keep kissing her, though. Not yet.

He hasn’t said thank you.

Slowly, tenderly, he brings his hand up. It’s completely opposite to the rakish, frantic behavior that he was fantasizing about.

He puts his hand on her cheek. His fingers shake, her hair tickles his palm.

Sherlock feels it just as quickly as (Y/n) does.

Their joint union, their wholeness, their oneness, it’s overwhelming.

He kisses her again.

This third kiss, it's a revolution.

 

**Author's Note:**

> sksksksks if you can't tell i've never been kissed LMAO :(  
> anyways idk really what this was??  
> but like it if you want, don't like it if you want, have a good day!


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